I am told something I do not want to hear, but I am pleased.
She loves me. She loves me not.
I hear a rejection, but this is better than hearing nothing.
(I forced her to say it. I think she meant it.)
Within the surety of bad things lies surety, the positive affirmation of the negative. This contradiction breeds vitality in the notions of opposition and contrary, swelling and budding and growing within us, a reminder of the chance at play in every breath we take.
Pre-ordained does not fit. Mapping out a future is an afterthought nodding in the direction of all that has passed.
It may very well not happen.
It may very well.
She loves me not, but there is something rather than nothing, sings the eroticist.
A lack of love; an excess of being.